Blue That Sees All
by MissDizzyD
Summary: "Derek sank his teeth into Stiles' wrist and prayed for a miracle." Rated M for violence, to be on the safe side. Also, this is set just after S1, but without Jackson or Lydia because that's just how it turned out.


**Blue That Sees All**

Derek couldn't believe what he was seeing. They'd been doing this kind of shit for months and nothing ever came from it. There had been bruises and scrapes and the odd broken bone, nothing that the healing couldn't take care of, it was something that came with protecting the territory and they all accepted it. But nothing ever happened to _Stiles,_ because Stiles was Stiles and he may be stupidly brave and self-sacrificial but he wasn't an idiot. He would never throw himself into the middle of a werewolf fight. Until this moment.

He'd well and truly thrown himself in now. And he was being slashed and mauled for it, huge gashes marking his stomach and arms, blood running and dripping from where the beta was holding him off the ground while the Alpha tore at that beautiful, pale flesh.

Derek prayed that Stiles wasn't feeling it, he'd passed out or something, but the way the boy screamed said otherwise. Shrieks of agony that Derek couldn't do anything to stop, he was powerless, his body wouldn't obey him, he couldn't move. He could only stare, helpless, as Stiles went limp in the beta's arms, screams cutting off abruptly.

And then Scott, fantastic, amazing Scott leapt out of nowhere, flooring the Alpha, yelling for Derek to take over because he couldn't kill an Alpha without becoming one. Why wouldn't he want to be an Alpha? Derek asked himself. But the answer came almost as quickly as the question: Stiles. Stiles wanted to be part of a pack, part of _Derek's _pack in particular. So the two boys had joined him to help protect Beacon Hills from intruders like the ones there now. Stiles and Derek had spent time together – so much time, more than Scott because Scott was always busy trying to win back the Argent girl – and something subtle had changed between them. They weren't quite friends, but there was a mutual trust and understanding and a _need_ for each other. They were together more often than not, hanging out in Derek's apartment or watching a film or sleeping side by side.

Derek had had to reassure Stiles for hours that sleeping alongside pack was entirely normal and even Stiles, a human, would feel the comfort that came from physical contact with pack. So they slept in Derek's bed, just the two of them, warm and cosy and safe.

And all three of them knew without saying that if Scott became an Alpha, left town to seek out territory and a pack of his own, Stiles wouldn't leave with him, he would stay in Beacon Hills with his father and with Derek, because Stiles and Derek understood each other far more than Scott did. They shared a need to belong, to have people at their backs 24/7, they both needed _pack_.

So Scott offered the Alpha to Derek, who pulled himself up off the floor and strode over, taking the Alpha by the hair and dragging him away. He saw Scott hurry over to deal with the beta and heard when the beta's heart stopped dead. He heard Scott begging Stiles to stay with him, heard Stiles' heart weakening with every beat, all peripherally while he concentrated on the Alpha – the beast that had almost taken the closest thing he had to a friend.

He deliberately dragged his claws down the Alpha's cheek, leaving four pathways that bled and healed within seconds. Then Derek slashed his claws across the wolf's throat, leaving four long, gaping rents in its windpipe.

The Alpha didn't heal.

...

Derek sank his teeth into Stiles' wrist and prayed for a miracle.

...

Deaton was ready when they met him at his clinic, wearing blue scrubs, rubber gloves and a livid expression. He directed them into the surgery room and Derek lowered Stiles onto the metal slab slowly, trying not to jostle the boy. The vet set to work, cutting and peeling away Stiles' shirt and glancing at the sluggishly healing wounds.

"When are you going to learn," he said to Derek, his voice deceptively calm, "Not to get humans involved with your petty turf wars? I can help him this time and he'll heal, but he might not be so lucky in the future. Needle, Scott." His hand remained steady when he started stitching, contradicting the anger that Derek could hear in his heartbeat and see in his frown.

Derek backed away from the vet's table into a dark corner and observed silently as Deaton and Scott carefully cleaned the wounds, stitched them up and wrapped bandages around their work. Whilst they worked, Derek listened to his new beta's weak heartbeat and thought. It all seemed too simple. He'd seen how the Alpha went at Stiles, carving out gashes on his torso, it shouldn't be a simple matter of sew him up and send him home; there are certain things even the bite can't cure, surely. He said as much and they both glared at him from the other side of the room. Deaton was the first to talk, his anger barely concealed in his voice.

"He has one hundred and twenty six stitches in him. He's lucky to be alive."

...

After a quick discussion, it was decided that Scott would take Stiles back to the Stilinski house in the Jeep and try to reassure the Sheriff while Derek would go back downtown, move the bodies out of the warehouse, collect his car and meet them there.

That was why Derek was stood in the warehouse again, looking down at a dark patch, the blood still not entirely dry in places. This was the exact place where Stiles had almost died. And over there, a smaller patch of blood, where Derek had lain while his chest knitted itself back together. He had been vulnerable, couldn't move for half a second, and Stiles threw himself at the other Alpha to distract him. And he'd nearly died. Nearly died protecting _Derek_, of all people.

Deaton was right. Derek should never have allowed Stiles to get involved. This was always going to happen eventually and now Stiles had something he'd never wanted from an Alpha he wouldn't respect. Stiles would _hate_ him.

And that hurt Derek more than anything else.

...

Scott was so, so worried.

He had easily managed to get Stiles out to the Jeep and onto the backseat and he'd been careful of Stiles' head and his cuts and his stitches while he was carrying him up the stairs, followed by Sheriff Stilinski who had been shocked into complete silence at the sight of his kid all torn apart and held together with twine and bandages and let them in without a word.

John had been... informed... of the werewolf situation when the invading Alpha and beta started causing the police trouble. Scott had had to shift a lot in that conversation to prove that it was all true. They'd even called in Derek to verify and tell his side of the story, starting with the fire, then Laura's death and finally killing Peter to gain Alpha status. Hell, there was even a tense conversation with the Argents in which the Sheriff realised that his son was in a pack, and therefore fair game for amoral hunters and werewolves alike, and demanded wolfsbane bullets from Chris.

Now the two of them – Scott and Sheriff Stilinski – were sat at Stiles' bedside waiting for their best friend and son to wake up, or to show any sign of life other than breathing steadily and the occasional twitch.

Scott could hear all three of their heartbeats, some steadier and stronger than others, and he heard the fourth approaching, accompanying the Camaro's engine in a quick rhythm. He could practically taste Derek's uncertainty as he made his way up to Stiles' window. Scott walked over to unlock it, feeling the Sheriff's confused eyes on him as he crossed the room. Only one of them jumped when Derek slid through the window like a shadow and knelt on the floor by the bed to listen to Stiles' heart thumping unsteadily.

"Do I get an explanation now?" John asked when everything lapsed into silence again.

Derek lifted his head and frowned at Scott.

"I couldn't explain properly, I don't know what happened. I looked round and he was bleeding..." Scott's voice choked off and he had to look at his best friend again to remind himself they were all alive and safe and healing, albeit slowly.

"He was protecting me," Derek managed to rasp out. He cleared his throat and tried again. The words flooded out with guilt and sadness – all the things he'd thought as he dragged the dead wolves to the nearby forest gushing out in a torrent of misery. "The Alpha, we fought and then he bit me, right here," he pointed to his collar bone where the scar was still fading, "I fell and I couldn't move... The Alpha was coming for me and he... Stiles just threw himself in the way. The beta grabbed him and I couldn't... I couldn't _move. _We took him to Deaton. I had to- to bite him. I'm so sorry..." A tense moment of silence followed, in which Derek closed his eyes against the Sheriff's stunned expression. He felt a hand drop onto his shoulder.

"Son," the Sheriff's term of endearment tugged at something inside Derek, "This isn't your fault. Stiles was a damn fool to get involved, but I'm... proud that he did. He was protecting his family."

_Family._ The whole idea was foreign to Derek. He hadn't let himself think about having a family again, not since Laura died, but now he had a new pack. Yes, it was small, Scott was an idiot and the only defences Stiles had were snarky comebacks and 'Google-fu', but they worked somehow. There were never any awkward silences because Stiles never shut his mouth, there were never any unnecessary killings because Scott had the morals of a saint and Derek was... Derek. The Alpha. The one who kept them on task with barely veiled threats and furious glares. And bit them without their permission. Derek felt like he was going to throw up.

"He's a fool, but he sure knows how to protect what he loves." John added as an afterthought. No one moved for several minutes. Scott sat back in his chair on Stiles' left and the Sheriff moved back to the foot of the bed, watching Derek kneel with his head resting near Stiles' elbow, pretending he didn't notice how watery the Alpha's eyes were. They fell into silence again and unease drifted over Derek. The silence would not have be an issue if Stiles were conscious, they would be talking about Iron Man or Sonic or something.

"So, how are we going to take care of him," Scott asked eventually, "Like, you have work, Sheriff, and Derek you have... stuff to do and I have school. Damn, what are we going to do about school? He won't be able to go in until he gets control; that could be weeks!"

"I can phone the school, tell them he's real sick with mono or something, that'll get him loads of time off," he stifled a yawn behind his hand, "You'll have to get him catch up work or he'll be bouncing off the walls, you know what he's like."

"He'd probably research something useless like Pokémon Tournament Protocol." Scott said. He and the Sheriff joked like this a lot. Derek had seen it many times before, usually at Stiles' expense but the boy never seemed to mind. Maybe because it was true, but maybe because he wanted his small family to be happy again. A small family that, apparently, Derek had been drawn into, completely unknowingly. It was so _Stiles _to take the brunt of the jokes if it would make his father laugh.

"You, uh..." the Sheriff started, coughing slightly when his voice caught, "You said you bit him... Does that mean he's...?"

"A werewolf," Scott answered when Derek only scrunched his eyes closed as if bracing himself for a physical blow.

"So he's going to need slightly different care. Jesus," Guilt flooded through Derek as John rubbed his hand down his face and bit back another yawn. "Well I'll be in the house whenever I don't have a shift," he said, "I'm on nine 'til five all week so I'll be here during the night. Derek, are you okay to stay during the day?"

"I'm not leaving until he wakes up," he answered quietly, without looking up from Stiles' peaceful face. That beautiful face that would soon morph into the monster Derek had made it.

"You don't have to do that, son."

Derek gave him a look that most people would consider rude, but the Sheriff had gotten used to Derek and his facial expressions weeks ago and so didn't take offense – it was Derek's way of showing he cared.

...

True to his word, Derek hadn't left the Stilinski house since he climbed through the window the night Stiles was injured. Two days later, Derek started to _really _worry. Scott and the Sheriff were both out at school and work and Derek was going crazy with worry. Deaton told him that Stiles would sleep for a while longer because of the nature and amount of sedative he was pumped with, but it had been _too_ long, surely, especially since Stiles was a _werewolf_ now. Officially. His scent had altered minutely. The bite had taken and no one was sure whether to rejoice or despair.

Derek was achy and exhausted. He'd spent the last two days alternating between sitting on the edge of Stiles' bed, watching the boy's wounds heal millimetre by millimetre as he slept, pacing, and sleeping in the chair in Stiles' room, existing predominantly on power naps, black coffee and Pop Tarts because apparently Stiles was normally in charge of all the cooking and grocery shopping and John was completely lost without him.

Truth be told, they were all lost without him. Scott was missing his best friend, the Sheriff was missing his son/chef and Derek was missing his... Friend? Pack mate? Beta now, he supposed. Somehow 'beta' didn't encompass all that Stiles had become to Derek. Their relationship wasn't as simple as Alpha/beta – Stiles spoke back, constantly challenging and disobeying Derek like an Alpha's authority meant less than nothing to him. Derek didn't know what it meant that it didn't bother him so much anymore. Whatever it was, the nightmares had returned now that he was sleeping alone.

Three times Derek had woken up from naps sweating and shaking, a scream stuck in his throat, feeling around desperately for Stiles' warm weight only to remember that Stiles was still unconscious and the nightmares had followed him back to wakefulness. He was suffering from the lack of physical contact with pack.

But Stiles' hand was resting on the edge of the bed, just _waiting_ for someone to hold it, so Derek reached forward slowly and took it, threading their fingers and smoothing his thumb over the soft, fair skin. It was okay. That small contact would be enough.

Stiles groaned and his hand twitched in Derek's, tightening slightly. Derek stared, marvelling at the feeling of skin against skin, of someone's hand in his own and it felt... intimate. They slept in the same bed every night, twisted around each other either here in Stiles' room or at Derek's apartment so why did holding hands give him such a warm feeling?

"Derek?" It came out as barely a grumble, but it settled something in the older man, like he was waiting for definite confirmation before daring to believe Stiles would be okay.

"Stiles," he sighed, running his free hand through his hair in relief.

"Hurts," the boy muttered, gripping onto Derek's hand with unknown strength.

"Shh, shh, it's all okay you can go back to sleep."

"But the Alpha, where is it?" Stiles breathed, trying to sit up only to meet Derek's hand and be pushed gently back down before he tore his stitches. "Gotta stop it."

"Go to sleep, we'll talk later," he replied, tracing down Stiles' forearm with his fingers soothingly. Apparently that was all the permission Stiles needed to let sleep drag him back under and Derek was left staring as the beta's eyelashes fluttered adorably in his sleep.

...

Stiles slept right through the night and most of the following day, leaving Derek to tell John that his kid was in fact still alive and talking but exhausted. They sat together in the kitchen until John went off to work in the morning, ordering Derek to call immediately if Stiles woke up.

The Alpha went through his day almost silently, making a sandwich for lunch with the leftover chicken from the night before; John had arrived home with the pre-cooked bird in a carrier bag complaining that if he didn't get some goddamn protein he was going to lose his mind. Derek had agreed whole-heartedly but pointedly nudged the salad bowl closer to the older man. If Stiles wasn't awake to force some vitamins down John's throat, then Derek would have to take over.

He ate his lunch at the kitchen table, letting his thoughts wander freely through whatever topics sprung to mind, chewing slowly and sipping at his water. The last bite was about to go in his mouth when a yell came from upstairs, surprised and scared.

Derek's brain spiralled down into a string of _no please, not again, not again_ and he was flinging open Stiles' bedroom door before he even registered that he was upstairs. The instinct to protect his pack overwhelmed any other conscious thought and it took him a few moments to realise that there was no intruder in Stiles' room, that the boy was merely staring, horrified, at the mirror by his bed. His breathing was too fast and ragged and rasping in his throat with every exhale. The tremors in his hands were visible from where Derek was stood in the doorway.

He was about to call Stiles' name when he turned around slowly, looking at Derek with wide eyes.

Wide, electric blue eyes.

...

"Derek?" Stiles whispered, "What happened?"

"I'm sorry..." Derek trailed off as Stiles' breathing turned laboured, gasping and tears welling in his still blue eyes. He kept muttering, repeating disbelieving words as he raised his hands to see claws in place of his fingernails. "Stiles, you need to calm down."

"No," Stiles shouted, glaring at Derek and snarling, his lips curling up angrily. "You... You're no better than Peter..."

Recoiling back, the Alpha steeled himself. It wasn't Stiles. Stiles wasn't really in control right now, just how Scott hadn't been himself in the beginning.

But whichever aspect of Stiles' new personality was in control right now, it wasn't doing a very good job. Derek walked slowly closer, advanced as one would an injured animal in the forest because that's basically what Stiles was now, even if the terms weren't 100% correct.

"Stiles, listen to me, you need to control the change. Find your anchor," Derek said, drawing his beta into his arms and pressing his nose to his neck. The scent was still mostly the same, but there was a hint of something more, of a subtle power deep in his core that had remained undiscovered until now. It smelt of electricity and thunderstorms. It smelt _heavenly_.

Then Derek felt claws stabbing into his back and sharp fangs at his neck and everything turned to shit.

...

Scott wasn't particularly worried about Stiles _or_ Derek. Derek was the best werewolf he knew, though to be fair, his experience with other wolves was limited to Peter and an Alpha/beta pair who had gone on a killing spree around California and then clawed up his best friend. Speaking of, Stiles would be an awesome werewolf when he woke up. He'd learn the control thing straight away – that was what Stiles was like. He knew things.

What Scott _was _worried about was his calculus homework. Calculus is _tough_, especially when Stiles wasn't around to help him out.

He was also worried about Allison and his new plan to get back together with her. He was waiting to meet her in the library after school to study so Scott wouldn't fail English and be kept back a year. The plan was to become friends with her first and then hope she made a move before they went off to college. But he could wait for her, if she wanted that. He'd always wait for her.

But just as she arrived, smiling shyly at him in a way that made his heart skip, his phone chirped with a text.

_Derek: S awake get here asap now_

And whatever anyone said about Scott, Stiles was more important than anything in the world except for Scott's mom and Derek wouldn't ask for help unless it was absolutely necessary. So he met Allison halfway, shouldering his bag and putting his phone back in his pocket, ignoring how her face closed off when he told her that something came up.

Stiles would always come first, no matter how much he loved Allison.

...

When Scott finally came bursting into the room, Derek had tackled Stiles onto the bed and pinned him down, holding his arms behind his back so he couldn't do either of them anymore damage. They both had scrapes and scratches all over, some healing quicker than others, and Stiles' sheets were smeared with blood where Derek had had to wrestle him into submission. The part of Stiles that constantly challenged Derek's judgement was now a definite disadvantage.

"What the hell?" Scott spluttered, dropping his bag and running over to look at Stiles, who thrashed even harder and bared his fangs some more. "Dude, get off him!"

"Are you insane? He tried to kill me, you think you're the exception a new beta's bloodlust?" Derek yelled back over the growling now coming from the boy.

But then... It stopped. The growling, the struggling, Stiles calmed completely. It was almost violent how sudden it was – like someone had hit him over the head with a sledgehammer and he'd been knocked out cold. Then Derek heard a floorboard creaking out in the hall and looked over to see the Sheriff standing by the door, gun out and staring at his son with a horrified, unsettled look.

"Get off him," John whispered, so quietly that Derek nearly missed it, but the cold authority in his voice had both him and Scott backing away from Stiles, now lying still and calm, every bit the human he'd always been, the wolf concealed behind the relaxed facade.

"Dad?" Stiles asked. He sounded so young. Like a kid. The Sheriff ran his hand over Stiles' hair and mumbled soothingly to him, turning around briefly to gesture Derek and Scott out of the room. It was obviously a private moment and the werewolves would know immediately if anything happened, so Derek pushed Scott out the room and they both went to wait downstairs.

...

They sat silently at the kitchen table, waiting for John to join them. He shuffled into the room a few minutes later with a weary sigh and a do-not-shit-me-right-now expression.

"He's resting again. Must be tiring to wake up a werewolf with no idea how to cope with new sights and sounds and smells," he said, taking a free chair opposite Derek and leaning forward. Derek could tell he was in interrogation mode. It was the same look he'd worn when they'd spoken about Laura that first time, then again when they told him about werewolves. "His eyes are blue."

Derek nodded, even as Scott looked between them with what Stiles called his Confused Puppy Face.

"You said they were blue if..."

"If that person had taken an innocent life, yes," Derek swallowed hard. He'd been thinking about it himself and come up with nothing that made any sense. Stiles would never...

"Jesus," John murmured, rubbing both hands over his face then through his hair and God, Derek had only seen that nervous tic once, when Derek told him exactly how Kate Argent had gotten into the Hale House. "I never knew it was that bad."

"What was that bad?" Scott asked.

"Stiles' mother died when he was eight years old," he began, surprising both the wolves. That was a non-sequitur is ever there was one. "Even at that age he blamed himself for her death. Maybe the whole 'taking an innocent life' thing is open to interpretation. If a person truly believes the death of someone innocent to be their fault, their eyes would still be blue. Like a guilt thing. I never realised it was that bad. Shit."

Derek closed his eyes and shook his head. Whatever happened to her, the way John spoke about it told him that in no way was it Stiles' fault.

"Can I speak with him?" He asked, standing up without conscious decision to move.

"He's sleeping," John said, looking up at the ceiling like he could see through it to his son.

"No he's not. He never fell asleep, I would've heard," Derek said brusquely, moving over to the stairs and ignoring Scott saying that maybe it was best to leave Stiles alone for now, give him some time. But Derek knew the spiral of self-loathing all too well. If they left him alone, he'd stew and convince himself that he was worthless and that... That just wouldn't do.

Stiles was sat on the edge of his bed waiting when Derek pushed the door open. Neither of them said a word until Derek was situated next to him and for once it was up to Derek to break the clinging silence.

"It wasn't-"

"My fault?" Stiles scoffed bitterly. "That's a role reversal. Normally it's you going on a mission to be the guiltiest innocent person in this town."

"It wasn't your fault," Derek tried again, staring straight ahead to avoid Stiles' incredulous look.

"You have no idea," Stiles spat bitterly, tears already forming in his warm, brown eyes. "It was all my fault. It was the stress that made her do it. I was a problem child, always doing the opposite of what she said, constantly running off and making her life hell. And she couldn't cope with it, she couldn't stand me. Every time, every single time that I disobeyed her I drove her a little closer to the edge. I didn't even realise what I was doing until she'd jumped over that edge. She overdosed. Took too many anti-depressants. Four times her prescription for an entire week in under an hour. They saved her, got her to hospital just in time to save her life. But her brain was damaged and she wasn't getting better, wasn't waking up. They had no choice. Took her off life support. Wanna know what I was doing when she died? It's the kicker. I was lost in the woods behind Scott's house, causing everyone one last little bit of trouble. I killed her. It's my fault. Now my eyes are the ugliest shade of blue purely to remind me of what a terrible son I am."

"Look at me, Stiles," Derek said at last as he grabbed Stiles' chin and turned the boy's face towards him. "It wasn't your fault. I mean it. And I will spend every single second of my life convincing you of that if I have to."

"But my eyes-"

"It doesn't define you as a person. They're still beautiful. _You're _still beautiful." Derek admitted, reaching out to trace his fingers over the back of Stiles' hand, giving him the option to pull away from the touch instead of forcing it on him. "I'm sorry I had to bite you."

"You saved my life," Stiles replied, turning his hand over and entwining their fingers. "I'm sorry I compared you to Peter. That wasn't even remotely a fair comparison, given the fact I was nearly dead and Scott was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And Peter was crazy, only wanted to build up his pack for nefarious reasons, but you were saving me. And I... I mean... Thank you. That's what I'm trying to say. Thank you for saving my life via your magic Alpha fangs."

"You're welcome," is all he said in return, sitting more comfortably against the headboard and trying to ignore the bloodstains all over the bedspread from earlier. Later, hours later when Scott and Stiles were finally asleep in the spare room, Derek silently watched over them like a guardian angel and thought that their little pack was perfect for him, exactly what he needed. This was his family now, these two teenagers and the man sleeping in the next room. It was small and unorthodox, but they worked. They'd managed to survive. They were still alive.

And that was all that mattered, in the end.


End file.
